


Good Grief

by easilyandromeda



Category: V for Vendetta (2005)
Genre: Cannon Divergence, Death, Dreaming, F/M, Finding Each Other in Dreams, I thought this was sweet, No Evey in this one, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25355116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/easilyandromeda/pseuds/easilyandromeda
Summary: Antigone...The name still hurt to think about. But maybe seeing her in his dreams made the pain a little duller.(This is an AU where V had never meet Evey, but another girl who became his partner.)
Relationships: V (V for Vendetta)/Original Female Character
Kudos: 17





	Good Grief

V had no idea what to think. If this was all a sick dream, he wanted nothing more to be dragged back to the waking world. Seeing her spin in all of her radiant red light was too much to bear. The weight of the world was held in the shimmer of her vibrant color. Mask off, blonde wig tossed to the side without care. 

He saw her as he last had, her true self. She had a true self under the costume, under the mask and wig and dress. She was a woman, vibrant and shining. Not a monster like him. She had been, however, so very devoted to his monstrosity. To his cause. 

His sweet Antigone. 

“Antigone,” he whispered, not believing the figure that swayed in the center of his Shadow Gallery. Her Shadow Gallery, if he was to be completely honest. She helped to build it as much as he had. She turned her head, locking her eyes firmly onto him. He felt all oxygen be ripped from his very cells.

She turned quickly, crossing the room so fast that V had no time before her arms were around his waist, as real as ever. May this cruel bliss never wake him. His fingers curled into the disheveled mess of short brown hair that sat atop her head, leather wrapped fingers holding her head firmly to him.

“Hello V” she spoke, voice like sugar and bells. 

“How did you-“ She cut off his question with a firm squeeze around his torso, taking time to breath in his scent of warm leather and old books. She pulled back from him silently, allowing the man before her to meet her gaze, even behind the stark expression of the Guy Fawks mask. 

“The Fingermen.” He brushed his gloved hand against her cheek.

“The trap,” She replied, leaning into his touch.

V feared the question he had to ask next. He already knew the answer. He remembered how the two were cornered. How she begged him to run. She couldn’t let Norsefire take V. He held too much stake to the revolution they were trying to create. ‘The idea of you matters more than the idea of us. They hear your voice, not ours. Now GO!’

“They killed you, didn’t they?” V’s whisper cut the silence, and the bittersweet smile was all he needed in response. 

He watched her fend off the Norsefire legion as best as she could. All grace and all ferocity. He watched a soldier rip the blonde wig she wore off her head, and another smashing her mask to the floor with a sickening crack. It haunted him that the first time he would see her true face was like this. They snatched her up, tearing at her beautiful red costume and forcing her to the ground. She looked up and he saw the well of sorrow in her honey eyes. He was somehow able to escape that night, but never stopped trying to find her, even though he knew his searches were fruitless.

He would never forget those eyes.

They stared back up at him now, a vision of beauty he had so dearly missed.

“Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight. For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.”

“You could find a better quote than Romeo and Juliet, V.” She teased, moving his take a glove from one of his hands. He did not stop her.

“I could not think of a truer statement. You cannot fault me for speaking the truth.”

“I can fault you for being cheesy.” She giggled and took his scarred hand into her own. She pressed kisses to his palm and fingers, relishing the mangled skin under her lips. He couldn’t breathe. He was floating and dying all at once. He wanted nothing more than to die. To truly be with her in death. To finally throw off his mask and let her see the real him in eternity. 

“I don’t want to wake up,” he mumbled quietly. It was all the truth. He wanted to stay in this wicked dream forever. With Antigone. In her flowing red ball gown, with her tattered hair and honey brown eyes. 

“But my dear, the 5th is nearly upon us.” She whispered, bringing herself back into V’s personal space once more. He could feel her breath against the opening in his mask, and he could almost taste her. He could have sobbed. 

Antigone reached up, grabbing the bottom part of his mask. He reached his other gloved hand up quickly to catch her wrist, almost out of instinct.

“You can’t hide from the dead my love.”

She seemed to respect his full privacy somewhat, pulling the mask up only far enough to expose his chin and lips. Her kiss was gentle, just as he had always imagined her kisses would be. How he had longed to kiss her in life. 

“I think I will be seeing you soon,” he puffed out as she pulled away. Antigone settled his mask back into its proper position, giving his eyes a knowing glance. She nodded slightly, still holding his ungloved hand in her own.

“I know my dear. I will await you patiently. These violent delights have violent ends. And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey.” 

“You cannot complain when I use Shakespeare when you quote it right back at me,” V quipped, squeezing Antigone’s fingers. A grin pulled itself across her features as she chuckled, looking once more between their hands and his mask.

She took a step back, extending out their arms between them.

“Until the 5th my love. Adieu.”

And with that, V’s eyes fluttered open. He laid in the darkness of his room, atop his bed and sheets. Like he had crashed against the mattress and drifted away instantly. In the darkness, he thought he could see her outline. Smell her perfume. He wanted a sign of anything that she was there. He grappled with any sort of stimulus he could see, trying to make it fit into an idea of Antigone. 

He glanced at the clock on his desk, catching the date. _November 1st._

He would have to wait 4 more days before he saw his love again. But if that meant he could make her proud with his revolution, then he might just be able to wait.

  
  



End file.
